


Clyde

by cryptidbf



Series: Wounds [1]
Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Original Character Death(s), This is something, and im pretty sure i astral projected, i wrote this while working through four cups of caffeinated tea, my middle name is 'has too many ocs', so yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 13:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidbf/pseuds/cryptidbf
Summary: Jack Kelso's very own Sugar Loaf Hill.





	Clyde

In the humid night air, Clyde sits alone.

He doesn’t really mind; it’s a chance to take a break and work through his thoughts. The days were just getting harder and harder out here, it seemed, and it was also getting just as difficult to find time to breathe, but he finally had time to relax— if only for a moment.

Or try to, at least. The thing is he’d been _trying_ to pen a letter to Rose for hours now and it was starting to feel like there was just too _much_ he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her he missed her; he wanted to remind her how much he _loved_ her and mention how badly he couldn’t wait to get home. He wanted to tell her all of his fears that he _wouldn’t_ make it home to her, that his time on this earth would be cut short before they could start a family. There was so many words swimming in his brain and— well, quite frankly, not enough paper to put them down on. Forehead creasing in response to his frown, he taps his pencil against his stationary.

“Careful there, soldier, you’re thinking hard enough to make smoke come out of your ears.”

Clyde jerks his attention away from his unfinished letter. Almost immediately, his frown melts into a friendly grin. “No moreso than usual, Kelso,” he says, and he gestures for him to sit. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

Jack hums and takes up his offer, settling down beside him. “Don’t we all,” he drawls, pulling a pack of cigarettes out and sliding out two. He holds out the extra to Clyde. “Writing to the wife?”

Mumbling a quiet _thanks_ , Clyde sticks the cigarette between his teeth and fumbles with his lighter. Once he manages, he takes a long drag and blows out smoke, watching it float into the sky. A chuckle escapes his lips. “Trying to,” he says, “Turns out I have a _lot_ I want to say and only so much time.” He takes another drag and flicks ash onto the dirt. “I miss her, y’know? I get this terrible fuckin’ ache in my chest any time she’s on my mind and it’s— it’s driving me crazy!” He barks out a laugh, but this time, there’s no humor to it. He can’t muster any for once.

Jack says nothing, not right away. Instead, he opts to just listen as he lights his own cigarette and takes a few drags. Only once it seems like Clyde’s cooled down does he choose to speak. “Watch,” he says, “You’ll be back home with her in no time. It’ll be like none of this ever happened.” He frowns. “Well, that second part is a lie. I don’t think _any_ of us are going to be able to pretend things are okay after this.”

Clyde exhales a deep, deep sigh. “All we can do is think of what we’re going home to,” he says, and he squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to chase away the sting. It works— somewhat— and he blinks them back open to tilt his head towards Jack. “You got anybody waitin’ for you? Don’t think you’ve ever mentioned anybody when we’ve gotten onto the topic of wives and girlfriends.”

Leaning back a bit to look up at the blanket of stars overhead, Jack shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I guess I just never found the time for it.” He turns his attention back to Clyde, eyebrows raised. “Having a wife to go home to wouldn’t be too bad. You make it sound nice, at least.”

With a soft, thoughtful hum, Clyde digs around in his shirt pocket and pulls out a folded photograph. It’s one that he’s long since memorized every detail of; Rose in his arms, her pretty smile lighting up her whole face. He hands it off to Jack. “That’s us right before we moved to Los Angeles,” he says, and he can’t keep the fondness out of his voice as he continues, “We were just a couple of starry-eyed kids, really, but we were happy.” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “Never _stopped_ being happy.”

Jack seems to be taking in all that he can of the photograph in his hands. “I can see why you married her,” he says, and he glances up at Clyde, one eyebrow raised. There’s something joking in his tone when he continues. “With looks like that, I don’t know why she married _you_.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of Clyde, as he gently punches Jack in the shoulder. “Come on, now! Low blow, Kelso.” He can’t keep the grin off his face, as he decides to play along. “You ain’t got room to talk, anyway. She’s _definitely_ out of _your_ league.” He reaches out to take the photograph back, but doesn’t go to put it away, not yet. He just stares at it for a minute, expression shifting into something far more solemn. Breathing out a sigh, he presses a quick kiss to the image of his wife; it’s the closest thing he would be getting to that for a while. “I promised her I’d make it home safe and sound, but… I’m starting to have my doubts.”  

“Nothing to doubt,” Jack says. There’s an arm around his shoulders, now, and it’s comforting. Clyde has to fight the urge to lean more into the embrace; these days, it was hard not to crave human touch, to crave _intimacy_ , but he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. “You’ll see her again. You’ll go home and start a little family, maybe sell those songs of yours to somebody with a lot of cash to their name.” Jack takes pause, as if remembering that he needed air. “Buy a nice house with a backyard for Clyde Junior to run around in.” He puts his cigarette out in the dirt, crushing it underneath the toe of his shoe. “The stuff of daydreams.”

Clyde inhales sharply and exhales with a small laugh. “I _doubt_ Rose would let me name our son _Clyde Junior_ of all things,” he says. He drags his own cigarette across the dirt, making a small cross and effectively extinguishing it. “Other than that, it’s perfect.” His thoughts take another turn and that terrible frown is tugging at his lips again. “I just hope I live to see all of that, y’know? I mean— I don’t—” He lets out a frustrated noise, as his mind becomes a jumbled mess of anxiety and ten different fears. “I don’t want to leave her alone, Jack. That whole— ugh, _‘til death do we part_ crap isn’t supposed to happen only eight years into the marriage.” He doesn’t make sense. He knows he doesn’t. With another sharp intake of air, he decides to cross himself this time, eyes towards the sky. “Not to take the Lord’s name in vain, but— God.”

Jack is quiet again, merely pulling Clyde closer and resting his head against his. They sit like that for what feels like an eternity, not talking, just breathing. Finally, though, Jack decides to speak up. “There’s nothing to fear,” he mumbles, and he shifts so that they’re forehead-to-forehead, deep blue eyes staring into warm brown ones. “I’m going to make sure you get home, alright? I promise you that.”

Clyde inhales deeply, ready to reply, but nothing comes out. He merely breathes out a frustrated sigh. Why was it so hard for him to put things into words tonight? He squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingers into Jack’s shoulders, desperate for a deeper sense of contact. He needed a way to ground himself in reality— a reminder that he’s still here, he’s still alive, he’s _okay_ and _fine_ and _breathing_. “How do you know things will work out, Jack?”  

Jack’s got a hand on the back of his head, fingers tangling themselves in his short locks. It helps calm him down a little; Rose always used to run her fingers through his hair whenever she knew he was upset and this small gesture was more than enough to comfort him. “You just have to trust me,” he says, voice soft and gentle and everything Clyde needed right now, “Can you do that?”

Nodding, Clyde blinks his eyes open so he can meet Jack’s intense gaze. “I can,” he says, and he swallows the lump in his throat. “I trust you. Always have.” He manages a laugh. It’s quiet, and barely there, but it’s better than nothing and he feels a bit less lost than he did a minute ago. “I have no idea where I’d be without you. Probably would’ve died _weeks_ ago, don’t you think?”

With a small laugh of his own, Jack leans in a little further. His breath is tingling on his lips and Clyde has to fight down the sudden heat in his cheeks. “Some things are best left unanswered,” he says, and he moves to tilt Clyde’s chin up to better meet his face, “Here’s a better question: would it be inappropriate to kiss you when we were just talking about your wife?”

Clyde snorts and that only serves to intensify his blush, red creeping all the way up to his ears. His heart is drumming a song against his ribcage, one so _wonderful_ that he wants to put it down on paper and play it for somebody— maybe Jack, maybe Rose, maybe an entire crowd. “I don’t know,” he says, and he smiles sheepishly, “Do it anyway?”

All Jack does in response is nod and close the gap between them.

 

* * *

 

Things had gone downhill so fast.

One minute, everything was fine— and the next…

Fire, blood, bullets flying through the air. Nothing but wounded soldiers— and enemies— as far as the eye could see. From his vantage point, the situation looked pretty dire to Jack. He’s using the sleeve of his uniform as a barrier between him and all the smoke, but it wasn’t doing much good and he’d had far too many close calls in just the past couple of minutes. He peers over the side of the foxhole he’s currently stuck in— and immediately ducks back down before he can get a bullet between the eyes. Close. Too close. _Always_ too close.

“Fox! How you holding up?” He’s having to yell over all the artillery and he’s still not sure if Clyde can hear him. Right now, the other man is beside him, sweat rolling down his grimy face and one hand pressed to his side. Jack wasn’t a doctor in any shape or form, but even then, he knew it was bad. There’d been too much blood loss and he’s surprised that the other man’s even held on this long. With a cough, he moves as close as he can get. “ _Clyde_ , hey. You still with me?”

Clyde lets out a weak laugh, head lolling to the side. “M’fine,” he manages to get out, but from the way he follows that statement up with a pained groan, it’s obvious he’s not. His uniform is completely saturated with blood, deep, red crimson blooming like an unholy flower on the fabric. “Mm, no, I’m a liar and lying’s a sin. Don’t wanna burn in Hell when this is all said and done with, so if things are gonna end here, I better be a fuckin’ saint until my final breath.” His head lolls towards him and he squints a bit, eyes not entirely focused on Jack’s face. “You’re— you’re awfully blurry lookin’, Kelso. Always wondered if I needed glasses. Guess I do.”  

Jack can’t help the frown that tugs at his lips. He’s not sure if Clyde’s trying to make a joke or if it’s delirium. “Just hold on,” he says, “We’re going to get out of this together, Clyde. You and me.” He reaches out to brush Clyde’s hair out of his face; it’s sticking to his forehead. All that does is make Jack’s frown deepen.  “Listen to me. I told you I’m going to get you home and that’s what I’m going to do, alright? You’re not dying here.”

Another weak laugh escapes Clyde’s lips. “Afraid I am, Jackie boy,” he says, “Afraid I am.” His eyes flutter shut and Jack feels a momentary sense of panic until the other man continues speaking. “Kelso. _Kelso_. I need a favor.” He’s fumbling with the pocket of his uniform, doing what Jack has no idea, but then— he pulls out the same folded photograph he’d shown him just a couple weeks ago. Before Jack can protest, it’s being pressed into his hands with something smaller, rounder— Clyde’s wedding band. “When you get home, I want you to find Rose for me,” he says, “There’s— I wrote her another letter. Left it back at camp because I thought I’d get a chance to send it. Think you can get it to her? Tell her I loved her?” He chokes out yet another laugh— how he was managing that at a time like this, there’s no telling. “I’d feel better knowing she’s got you to look after her. _Promise_ me you will, won’t ya?”

Jack opens his mouth to speak— nothing comes out. His throat is too dry and the smoke isn’t helping. He swallows hard and glances down at the photograph in his hands— it’s stained with blood that wasn’t there before. “Clyde, no, _hey,_ ” he says, reaching out to put a hand on his cheek. “There’s nothing to promise because everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.” It was getting harder to believe that, and he’s not sure if the ache in his chest is from not being able to _breathe_ properly or something else. “You’ll make it out of this and be home with Rose in no time.”

Clyde inhales sharply and exhales with a not-too-pleasant wheeze. “Didn’t I just tell you lying’s a sin, Kelso?” There goes his eyes again, fluttering shut and making Jack’s heart jump up into his throat, but then those brown eyes are staring back at him— well, more like _through_ him. He’s got a crooked grin on his face that nearly stops Jack’s heart. “I had a helluva time with you, Jackie boy. Hope you know that.” He laughs and Jack swears to God that in all the time he’s been here, nothing has been more heartbreaking to him.

Especially when he realizes that was the last laugh he’d ever hear from Clyde.

Inhaling sharply, he gently closes the other man’s eyes and moves to lean back against the wall of the foxhole. His eyes drop to the photograph still clutched in his hands. He hadn’t realized they were trembling and he swallows the lump in his throat as he unfolds it. The inside is unmarred compared to the outside, an image of perfection, and Jack traces the outline of the two figures pictured. One, the dead man beside him. The other— said dead man’s _wife_. He’s never met Rose, only knew what Clyde had told him, but he can imagine the reaction she’d have when she got the news. Grief. Heartbreak. The mere thought leaves his stomach churning with guilt.

It’s probably the smoke getting to his brain, but with little thought, he moves to press a kiss to the photograph like he’d seen Clyde do multiple times before. 

“I promise I’ll find her,” he whispers, “I _promise_.”

 

* * *

 

Jack swore to himself that the moment he got everything settled, he’d visit Rose.

It takes him weeks to build up the nerve and another to actually do it, but finally, he finds himself staring at the woman he’d only seen in photographs. She’s sitting at a table in one of the various music clubs around town, early in the morning, reading glasses perched on her nose and accounting ledgers in front of her. He’s quick to notice that she’s dressed in all black— much like any mourning widow would, he guesses, and that just leaves him feeling _worse_ about this.

She hasn’t noticed him yet. He could turn back now and try again another time. In fact, he’s about to do just that when—

“Can I help you?”

She’s staring straight at him now, one eyebrow raised and green eyes so intense he almost breaks out into a sweat. No, wait, he’s definitely sweating. He wasn’t that warm a moment ago. Tugging at his tie, he clears his throat and moves to stand in front of her. Those green eyes are even more intense up close. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he says, as politely as he possibly can, “My name’s Jack Kelso. I was, uh—” He clears his throat again, mouth suddenly dry. “I served in the war with your husband, Clyde.”

At the mention of her husband’s name, the intensity in Rose’s eyes dies down. She moves to pull her reading glasses off and rub at her face. “Right,” she mumbles, “I think he might have mentioned you in one of his letters.” She inhales deeply and exhales with a tired sigh. “Well, what is it? Here to offer me condolences?” A bitter laugh escapes her lips, as she tucks a loose strand of dark hair back into place. “Believe me, I’ve heard them all by now. Quite a few of you boys have stopped by to see me.”

Jack opens his mouth to speak— instead, opts to take the chair opposite her. He reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out an envelope and sliding it across the table. “Clyde told me to give you this before he, uh—” He frowns. “Well, I suppose I don’t have to tell you _that_ part, but it’s the last letter he wrote you.” God, his mouth is so _dry_. “I also put his wedding band inside. I think you deserve to have it more than I do. You were his wife, after all, and so I believe it’s your rightful property.”

Rose frowns down at the surface of the table. “Indeed I was,” she says, and she gingerly picks up the envelope, but does nothing more with it. Instead, she appears to be trying to burn a hole through it with her eyes. There’s a beat of silence, and then— she’s shifted her gaze to meet his. “Will that be all?” Her voice cracks— barely noticeable, but he catches it nonetheless.

His fingers ghost his pocket. It’s just his imagination and he knows it, but the photograph is absolutely _burning_ against his chest. Jack wonders if he should hand it over— a voice in the back of his head screams at him to _keep it, she doesn’t need to know_ , selfishness seeping into every word. Another voice tells him he’s being ridiculous for even _thinking_ of keeping something from a dead man’s wife. A third, much quieter voice says that he has no need for a silly photograph when the real deal was right in front of him. He decides to squash that last one before it can go too far.

With a sharp intake of air, he pulls the photograph from his pocket and winces at the sight of dried blood. “You should also have this,” Jack says, meeting her gaze as he holds it out, “I probably don’t need to tell you what it is, considering you’re in it, but…”

Rose hums softly, her fingers brushing against his hand as she takes it from him and unfolds it. Almost immediately, there’s a sheen of tears to her eyes and all it does is intensify the color of them. “I always wondered where this photo went,” she mumbles, “Guess I know now.” She pulls a handkerchief from her own pocket and dabs at her eyes. Once she’s more composed, she delicately tucks it back in her jacket and sits up a little straighter. “Thank you for returning it to me, Mr. Kelso. It means more than you know.”

“Of course,” Jack says, “It was the right thing to do.” He wants to say something more, but finds himself without words as he just… stares at her. All those long, terrible weeks made better by looking at that photograph to remind himself there was a reason to keep going and… here she was. There’s a terrible, fluttery feeling in his stomach that’s either butterflies or guilt. Really, he’s not sure _what_ he’s feeling. He’s never been good with emotions; his mother used to laugh, pinch his cheek, and say it was his one weakness. Is he still staring? He’s still staring. _Say something_. “He talked about you a lot. I could tell he was head over heels.”

That gets a small laugh out of her. “You’d think we’d only been married a couple days with the way that man acted,” Rose says, lacing her fingers together on the table, “I swear, every letter I got, he spent at least _half_ of them gushing about how much he loved me.” She breathes out a sigh. “This is probably a difficult question, Mr. Kelso, but do you think he was at least happy when he passed?”

Jack doesn’t know what to say to that. He’d never even _considered_ it, honestly, and he racks his brain for an answer. “You were the last thing on his mind,” he finally says, “so I’d hazard a guess and say that yes, he was happy.” A frown tugs at his lips. “He really did love you. I’m sorry things ended like they did.”

Much to Jack’s surprise, Rose reaches across the table to take one of his hands in hers. “I spent almost eight very happy years with him,” she says, “and while I wish I’d received the chance to spend the rest of my life in his arms, I’m glad I got even that much time. I was lucky to find a love as grand as I did.” She smiles through fresh tears. “However, I believe that life allows us more than one soulmate and I suppose I’ll find another one eventually. He’d want me to.” She squeezes his hand and that fluttery feeling is back. Guilt. Butterflies. No, actually— it’s both. He doesn’t get too much time to dwell on that before Rose is continuing, something of a sad, knowing smile on her face. “You’ll find your own, too, Mr. Kelso.”

There’s a sudden heat to his cheeks. Jack wasn’t easy to fluster, not in the least, but hearing those words leave her lips left his face absolutely burning. “What do you mean?” He manages to choke out, but he has a feeling he already knows.

Rose lets out a watery laugh. “I lied when I said he _might’ve_ mentioned you,” is all she has to say, releasing his hand. She takes a minute before continuing, as she’s a little too busy trying to compose herself enough to speak. “The other half of those letters was always about you. He loved us both, I think.” She wipes at her eyes again. “I should be jealous, shouldn’t I? Knowing my husband was just as in love with you as he was with me.” She shakes her head and that piece of hair comes loose again, hanging in her face. “I’m not, though. I think it just goes to show that he was a… very loving, kind hearted person and that’s all that matters in the end. Don’t you agree?”

Once again, he’s speechless, as if somebody had came along and erased every word in his personal dictionary. He struggles to find the words to say. He can’t even _think_. Finally, he says, “He was a good man, Mrs. Fox.”

“As are you,” Rose says, and that sad smile is still on her face, “It’s simply Ms. McAllister, by the way. I returned to my maiden name when I had the marriage annulled.” A pause. “You know, just in case you ever need to find me. I suppose it’s not _impossible_ that there’s another Rose Fox in the city, but… well, if there is, you’d be talking to the wrong woman, hm?”

Jack nods. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, and he moves to stand, “I won’t keep you any longer, uh— Ms. McAllister. I’m sure you need to get back to your work.” He wants to say more, but again, can’t find the right words. So, instead, he offers her a brief nod and turns to leave.

However, he doesn’t get very far before Rose is calling after him. “Mr. Kelso?”

He turns around to face her, eyebrows raised. “Yes?” 

“I just—” Rose stops, taking a moment to breathe in deeply. “I just wanted to say thank you again. That’s all.”

Jack gives her another nod. “Anybody in my shoes would’ve done the same.”

With that, he finally heads for the door. Once he’s outside in the already hot Los Angeles sun, he stops for a moment and just squeezes his eyes shut. He must look like an absolute fool standing in the middle of the sidewalk; however, after that entire conversation, he could care less about the stares and whispers from passersby. It was a lot to take in, but… 

He felt better, at least, and that’s all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> do not look at me i have no idea what this even is
> 
> also shout out to ri for being my fucking editor ya


End file.
